


What Greg Sanders Really Wants

by knotted_rose



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: First Time, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knotted_rose/pseuds/knotted_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does Greg Sanders really want? For that matter, what do Nick, Warrick, and Gil really want as well?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Greg Sanders Really Wants

**Author's Note:**

> For the Gil Fuh-Q-Fest, challenge #2, Specific Pairing/Challenges section, namely, CSI pile: Gil/Warrick/Greg/Nick. Bonus points if you start with a trio of Greg, Nick, and Warrick and have them gang up on Gil.
> 
> This is porn. Pure and simple. PWP. Not one smidgen of plot anywhere. This is written from three first person POVs: Nick, Warrick and Gil.

Nick:

Man -- I do not _believe_ what Warrick just suggested. Me and _Greg?_ What the hell is he thinking?

I've listened to my sisters rag on about the male species for years, decades even. Right now, I think I agree with them -- men are deaf, dumb, blind and stupid.

Why can't Warrick see that I want _him?_

Does he really think I hang out with my other buddies as much as I do with him? That I let them couch surf as often as he does? That I never (well, rarely) bitch at them about drinking me out of house and home just because we're friends?

Well, we _are_ just friends. And that's the point, I guess. I'm fucking tired of it.

Warrick's little comment about Greg is the key though. It let me know that he at least thinks about guys that way sometimes. Which means, as pathetic as it sounds, there's hope for me yet.

Besides, Greg's way more into Sara.

* * *

Warrick:

When Nick comes up with this idea of a "lost" weekend, watching the big game with plenty of drinks and chow, I figure this is it. This is his big chance. So I invite Greg.

I do _not_ expect him to go postal over it. I mean, come on, it's just Greg. Makes me wonder, though, if I'm right, cause, man, he's just protesting way too much, saying he'd never noticed how cute Greg was, how much he resembled a puppy, all big eyes, floppy hair and techno joy.

He wants to know if I'd ever considered it. Luckily, I don't have to tell him -- Sara comes in about the case. But yeah, I think about Greg that way sometimes. What Greg's like. What he could learn. What I'd like to teach him. How wide I could make those eyes go, how good that smart mouth would look around my dick, how that scarred back would feel under my fingers, my lips, my tongue.

I am _not_ about to set out to seduce him, though. I'm going to let Nick get the first shot. But later that night, in the privacy of my own bed, I take care of myself, like always, let myself moan his name while giving Mrs. Palmer all the action. I don't think it's hypocritical -- I'm a guy. Name me one guy who doesn't have a pile of tissues with the names of every one of his co-workers next to his bed at some point or another and I'll show you a liar. We all do it.

Besides, Nick's much more his type.

* * *

Gil:

"Joy is in the ears that hear, not the mouth that speaks." [1]

That certainly seems to be the case here. Nicky really didn't want to invite me to this weekend shindig at his house. I think he's finally screwed up his courage and is planning on making a pass at Warrick. He was _not_ looking for more company. Well, I can just make a cameo appearance, then gracefully bow out, leave the two lovebirds alone.

Oh, wait, Warrick's invited _Greg_ as well? I see the lay of the land now. Warrick's playing matchmaker, hoping to get Greg and Nick together.

We'll just have to see about that.

Greg's always been far more interested in me.

* * *

Nick:

Pretzels? Check. Chips, dip, salsa, makings for nachos later on? Check.

Beer? Check, but just a six-pack. Because I've got two pitchers of my super-secret weapon right here.

Margaritas.

See, most people only drink margaritas when they go out. Bars always water down their mix and use cheap tequila. I make my own mix, and I use _good_ tequila -- stuff that's 100% blue agave, has been aged in oak for four years, and is damn near 100 proof.

And most people don't know what hit 'em after they start drinking. My margaritas taste good -- sweet with just enough tartness, like the perfect lemonade. But they have a kick that no one notices until it's far too late.

Grissom, I expect, will just make an appearance, show up for half an hour or so, then disappear. I don't know what to do about Greg. I figure either I'll make him nervous once I start moving in on Warrick, or he'll join in.

Cause though Warrick didn't say anything, I _know_ he thinks about Greg that way sometimes. And I'm not above using a coworker, namely, Greg, to get what I want, mainly, Warrick's ass in my bed.

It's party time.

* * *

Warrick:

Nick told us to be there at noon, so I arrive around 11:30. Knew his anal-perfectionist ass would be ready for guests by then.

Besides, I have a super-secret weapon. My old friend, cannabis -- delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol. Nick doesn't have to work for two days, plenty of time for the drug to leave his system. Besides, they only have us pee in a cup. They don't check our hair. Any CSI worth his salt knows how to fudge a drug test, and Nick's one of the best. Not like I'd ever tell him that though.

Or that he's cute when he gets so concentrated on a problem, brow furrowed and constantly licking his lips, like he can taste the answer somehow in the air.

So I show up in jeans that should have been thrown out at least two years ago because they're so tight, flip-flops that I kick off as soon as I walk through the door, and a wife-beater that stretches across my chest, under an open green-silk shirt that Catherine told me sets off my eyes.

So I'm a whore. Sue me.

My plan: get Nick high, drunk, and horny enough not to care who else is in the room when he sees Greg. I'll take care of Grissom if it means getting Nick laid. Bossman ain't too hard on the eyes, if you know what I mean. Besides, I'm pretty sure all that focus during sex could be a real bonus, you know?

* * *

Gil:

 I arrive punctually at noon. I still don't know if I'm just going to make an appearance or if I'm going to stick around to distract Greg. I've brought some aged, sipping tequila as a gift -- I seem to recall Nick mentioning that he liked it at one point or another.

Both Nick and Warrick arrive at the door looking sheepish. I wonder if I should just say my good-byes, if they've managed to start the orgy without me, but one sniff tells me differently.

"Ah, cannabis."

Nick turns the most delightful shade of red, rubs his head and looks down, no longer able to meet my eye, I suspect. Warrick just grins at me -- a little wary, but still, a type of smile.

He also moves a step in front of Nick, into a defensive position.

Interesting.

I decide to put them out of their misery.

"Boys, didn't your mothers ever teach you that it's polite to share?"

Now Nick looks up, startled. Warrick just laughs and says, "Come on then."

It doesn't take long to rekindle the splint they have. And it's good shit, that much I can tell after a single puff.

"I must warn you," I tell them as I breathe out the sweet smoke. "This is likely to make me nostalgic." Might as well get the ball rolling, though I don't understand why Warrick is leaning toward me, crowding my personal space. Doesn't he see what's before him? Why isn't he paying attention to Nicky, who's leaning into him?

God, they're both so beautiful.

"You don't want to hear me wax lyrically about almost losing my virginity under the influence, do you?"

"Only almost?" Warrick asks in a challenging tone.

I take another hit. "Yeah," I say as I finally exhale. "His name was Ted."

* * *

Nick:

I know Warrick brought good shit, but I didn't expect it to go straight to Gil's head that way. Or his dick. I've _never_ heard him talk this way before. Fuck. While Gil may ignore people in some situations, he sure seems to pay attention during sex. I've never heard someone describe a cock with so much loving detail. At least I'm not the only one affected by his story. Warrick's looking a little uncomfortable in those jeans he sprayed on.

Jeans I can't wait to peel away.

The doorbell rings and I have to go play good host. Even if Greg is, damn it, almost an hour late.

The other two follow me back inside and go into the living room while I continue to the door. I don't want to leave Warrick and Gil alone for too long. Not that I don't trust Warrick, but Gil is starting to list a little, leaning into every random touch.

Probably making up for lost time.

Greg just grins when I open the door -- a little sweet, a little manic, a whole lot of Greg.

Yeah, I can see the appeal.

Still. Gotta get back in there because I don't know what the hell those two are doing. And is that . . . giggling I hear? From Gil?

* * *

Warrick:

If I'd ever thought about it, I probably would have called Gil a bear, all fierce and protective. Turns out he's more like a large cat, just waiting to be pet. He's practically purring from just my thumb running across his shoulder.

Greg and Nick join us after making a detour to the kitchen for a pitcher of margaritas and glasses. I don't really remember what happened the last time I had Nick's margaritas -- they just kind of sneak up on you -- I do think I had fun.

Looks like the party is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Nick practically slides down my side as he's sitting down. Damn boy, why don't you just sit in my lap? I grin at him when he apologizes. It's cool. We're good friends, right?

But what the hell is Greg thinking, sitting so close to Nick, practically plastered up against _his_ back?

Shit. Isn't that what I want?

I need a drink.

* * *

Gil:

I'm certain that no one except Nicky actually realizes how much alcohol is in these margaritas of his. I'm also sure that if I asked him about it, he'd give me a patented "ah, shucks, really?" routine.

Luckily, I have some kind of tolerance.

I suspect neither Greg or Warrick do.

I also suspect that if I don't do something to change the existing seating arrangement, some sort of violence is going to erupt. I'm not certain who would start it -- either Warrick will kill Greg for touching Nick, or Nick will kill Warrick for touching me.

I have an idea though. We need to do a taste comparison between the excellent tequila in these margaritas and the one that I brought.

"Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong men." [2] And tequila, I'm afraid, may be required in this test of lust and friendship.

* * *

Nick:

I reluctantly get up to help Gil with this taste test of his. Can't he see I'm busy seducing Warrick?

Oh, who am I kidding? Warrick isn't interested in me. I'm just his cute-but-dorky partner -- no way am I sexy enough for him. I'm not into punk music or latex or cool stuff like Greg, and I'm not brilliant like Gil -- I'm too normal, too vanilla, I guess.

Maybe I should just stay in the kitchen, play host to the orgy, not try to join in.

But Gil is making me get out the good glasses for the tequila, and okay, I can see his point. The stuff he brought really does deserve to be treated with respect.

So I pour a pitcher of water and get separate glasses for "rinsing our pallets" between tastes, along with some crackers.

Gil calls me back into the kitchen after I set everything up in the living room. I wonder what else I've forgotten.

I do _not_ expect him to grab my shirt and haul me in for a searing lip-lock.

 _Damn._

Okay, so maybe, _maybe_ I speculated once or twice about what it would be like. The man is far from asexual, no matter what Sara says. She just doesn't notice who he's looking at, 'cause it sure ain't her.

But nothing I've ever experienced _or_ imagined comes anywhere near the truth.

Gil Grissom is God's gift to kissers everywhere.

And I don't mean that weak-in-the-knees, fluttery stomach, romantic violins in the background kind of shit. It's passion and raw sex that pours through lips that possess yours, a mouth that's hungry for everything you have, while giving you everything you've ever thought about, a tongue that's slick and soft and talented in a way that only occultist monks have probably ever studied.

I still don't know what hit me even after he lets me go. But he just chuckles, pats my cheek, and tells me that it's all going to be okay.

* * *

Warrick:

Now where the hell are Gil and Nick? What's taking them so long?

Okay. Here's Gil. And he's sitting between me and Greg now. Which means I can make my move on him when Nick moves on Greg.

Damn it! Where's Nick? And what the hell is Gil doing? "Ancient Sumerian massage techniques" my ass. Nick had better get his ass out here before his prize, ah, flirts away. Though that touch looks kind of interesting. And from the way Greg's eyes are fluttering closed, guess it feels that way too.

There he is. What the hell's the matter with him? What did Gil do to him? He's looking a little -- shit -- a _lot_ out of it.

"You okay?" I ask.

Nick kind of laughs, shakes his head "no," but at the same time says, "I'm good."

His eyes wander over to the side. I don't know what Gil and Greg are up to -- not sure I want to know.

All I know is that the look of want in Nick's eyes burns my soul.

I'm an idiot.

He holds out his hand to me, saying something like, "Consolation prize?"

I pull him down to me, over my lap, and I tell him, "No way babe. You're the real prize."

Then I kiss him like I should have a long, long time ago.

* * *

Gil:

When I hear Nick's low moan, I know that my goal for the afternoon has been accomplished. My back's still to them, though, and I don't turn around even when Greg's eyes widen.

I remove my fingers from where they've been exploring the scar tissue at the top of Greg's neck. I feel bad that I used him this way, distracted him away from Warrick and Nick. But it had to be done. I hope that Greg will forgive me for leading him on. I have no intention of following through, though I know my dick would say differently.

"Shall we?" I ask, nodding toward the door and starting to rise, not wanting to disturb Nick and Warrick any more. Though from the noises I'm hearing, I'm not certain that they'd notice an elephant stampede right now.

Suddenly, my shirt is grabbed from behind and pulled, hard. I sit back down before it rips. Warrick is still kissing Nick, kissing the very life and breath out of him from the looks of it, but he's not letting go of me either. Then Greg's hand is on my knee. I look down at it, not certain what to say.

"Where do you think you're going?" comes Nick's sex-rough voice from behind me.

"Party's just started," Warrick says as he starts leaning toward me.

I glance over at Greg. From the way his pupils are dilated, I think he's fine with this whole thing.

I lean into Warrick, kiss him with all the love, care and respect I have for him. I try to tell him with lips and tongue how much I admire him, how much he means to me.

How much I want him too.

I think I succeed -- Warrick looks a little stunned.

Now it's Greg's turn.

* * *

Nick:

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe Greg isn't into Sara. He sure seems to be digging the kiss Gil is giving him. Hell, if it's anything like the kiss Gil gave me earlier, I'm surprised Greg is still conscious.

"Hey," Warrick says, nudging me.

 

Damn. I can feel the blush creeping up. I'm usually not a voyeur, but I guess I must have been staring some.

I turn back to Warrick and kiss him again, hungry and soft, sweet and needy. It isn't just the drugs and the alcohol talking. I think Warrick gets that. I hope he does, because he isn't letting me pull back to actually say anything.

And while I'm loving the way Warrick's flicking my nipples and the sounds Gil and Greg are making, I'm thinking we need to move this somewhere more comfortable, where we can spread out. Somewhere it's easier to touch, because I'm a sick, greedy man, and I find I still _want_ : I want to run my hands along Greg's skin, want to taste Gil's sweat, even as I hold Warrick close.

It takes the slightest tug for Gil to release Greg, for him to lean forward, for me to get my first taste of the sweetness and cleverness that is Greg.

And I find that I still want _more._

* * *

Warrick:

Sometimes I give Nick shit about his ideas about a case. But moving this party to the bedroom sounds damn fine to me. I manage to get up off the couch first, then help the others up one by one. Of course, I insist that they pay a toll as they pass.

Nick is first. His kiss is slow and sweet, languid like a Texas summer day. I pull Greg up next, his taste fizzing and sparking across my tongue. I smile into the kiss -- now I understand why his hair stands up as it does, if he has all this running around inside of him.

Gil is last, slow and heavy, the force and focus of him nearly sending me to my knees. _Damn_ that man knows how to kiss. Luckily, he's always been a good teacher. I'm looking forward to learning more from him.

I walk with Gil, touching and tasting, all the way to the bedroom. The sound of Nick and Greg giggling like a couple of teenagers somehow wraps around my dick and tugs at it. Cause while yeah, something about this seems to be more than just a lost afternoon, we're still here to have fun, right?

I love the way Gil's eyes light up when he sees them so involved with each other, as well as the serious turn his mouth takes. I can tell he's plotting something. He kisses me again, long and slow and toe-curling good -- then he pounces and leads the way to our first tickle fight.

* * *

Gil:

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time . . . Mainly because proper tickling involves skin. I just thought it would be the most expedient way to get shirts removed, as well as explore the range of noises Greg and Nick would make.

I don't know why I didn't anticipate being tickled in return.

This is war.

Only I'm not about to retaliate with more tickling. I do manage to get Greg's right shoe and sock off. But I use firm pressure along his arch, press down on the ball of his foot, then pull on his toes.

He gives up his useless struggles. Such a lovely sight, laid out like a long treat, submitting to his pleasure, my pleasure.

Now, it's time for revenge. Using teeth, tongue, and soothing kisses, I start up the inside meridian of his calf. The moan I get for my efforts drags Nick's attention away from Warrick. Without a word they decide to help strip Greg of the rest of his clothes. Soon he's naked, worshiped by all. And who wouldn't want to touch such a body?

I can tell he has to fight to open his eyes, fight the overflowing sensations. But then he smiles, right at me. Why? Why would such an Adonis take even a second look at this old man?

But he does. And I have to kiss him for it, kiss the breath out of him, as I can't kiss the sense out of him, because he seems to have already lost that.

And this proves to be another tactical error on my part. Or maybe not, depending on how you look at it. For now I'm too close to horizontal, and the boys descend on me.

* * *

Nick:

Oh god.

 _Nothing_ can feel this good. It has to be the drugs and the booze.

But the way Warrick keeps touching me, even as he's running his tongue along Greg's side and making him squirm -- it's like there are live wires under my skin, and he knows how to make every one of them spark. Then there's the way Greg's moaning, it's so obscenely beautiful, better than any porn soundtrack. And the way Warrick tastes, some kind of citrus and musk that drives every other thought from my head except _more._ I'll never forget Gil's eyes either -- pupils so dilated there's only a sliver of blue left, but they're all hungry and hard and devouring that I'm surprised we all haven't burned up from the heat pouring out of them.

When Gil gets back into easy touching range, well, it's just easy to touch him, you know? To pull him down, here, with the rest of us. To strip him and taste him and chase the occasional drop of sweat with my tongue. To say all those things with touch and lips and teeth that would never make their way out my mouth otherwise, like how much I appreciate him, respect him, love him.

I'm not the only one, either. And that's what makes it all right, what takes us through this -- the awkwardness of getting naked, the sheer geometry of the four of us in one bed, the blowing past the boundaries that we've all maintained for so long -- is that we all want this. I don't know for how long, but it's obvious from the needy sounds Greg's making as he's sucking Gil's dick, the way Warrick's fingers tremble as he's pushing into Gil's ass, preparing him, the way Gil keeps pulling at me, urging my cock further into his throat.

The way I can feel my stubbornness rising when I think about the four of us, the way I know that I'm going to do everything I can to get us together again.

And again.

* * *

Warrick:

If it's possible to die from sensory overload I think my dust would already be blowing in the wind. I can't count the number of times I've had to slow down, to tell myself to _just hold on,_ to close my eyes and just breathe.

Though that last one doesn't help much. Not with the sounds everyone's making.

I never thought Gil would just give it up like that, you know? But damn. It might be because we all kind of ganged up on him and he didn't really have a chance to think about it. It might be because he's comfortable with who he is, and the connotations that get applied with stupid labels like "top" and "bottom" aren't ever going to stick.

Or it might be because he has a damn fine ass.

And he knows how to use it.

Jesus fuck, what kind of exercises has he been doing? I gotta know, because, hell, I've never been held like this before. I'm not losing my rhythm, not yet, but I'm going faster than I'd planned, my hips jerking to their own beat, pushing up hard and fast into Gil.

Now Nick's kissing me again and it's all going to be over sooner than I wanted it to be. But from the sounds of things, that's alright. The others are going to be finished soon too.

And then it'll be time to start round two.

I sure hope Nick realizes that this isn't going to be the only time we have a lost weekend together. And I don't mean just the two of us.

* * *

Gil:

"Man's life is but a jest/A dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor at best." [3]

Yet I long to live in these dreams, to be carried away on the oceans of the senses, surrounded by such heat and passion for the rest of my days. To fuck and be fucked, to touch and be touched.

To love, and be loved.

I try to give back everything that I'm feeling, the desire and respect amplified and reverberated, though I can't move that much, weighted down with hands and bodies, receiving and bestowing with grunts and cries, muscles gripping, tongue lapping, hips thrusting, as we all race toward that mythical peak.

I won't let myself think about the valley on the other side, not until I must.

Nick reaches the top first, plunging into my mouth and pumping out his essence, which I drink down like manna straight from heaven. Warrick follows shortly, urged on by Nick's sweet kisses, stealing his breath and thought as they do mine. Greg and I follow -- there's no holding back now, each working our way toward that welcoming white light that crashes down my spine, out my cock into that clever boy.

We end up piled together, no one willing to move away, talking through soft touches and kisses. How I managed to end up with Greg in my arms -- or with Nick at my back, and Warrick beyond him -- I'll never understand, but I'm thankful beyond words.

I know this can't last. We're going to have to face what comes next. Without any regrets on my part, at least. I hope they can understand that, and maybe feel a little of the same.

But before any doubts can surface, Nick does the last thing I expect him to do.

He starts to tickle me.

I grab his wrists and pull him to face me before he can do any more damage to my dignity. He just grins and says, "Now, no more deep thoughts. Just more of this."

Then he kisses me. Deeply.

Perhaps the valley beyond isn't so dark and shaded. Maybe I don't have to walk this path alone.

And from the smug, satisfied grin Greg gives me when Nick and I finish, I'm wondering if this is what Greg Sanders wanted all along.

The four of us, together.

{end}

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> [1] Stephen Donaldson  
> [2] Seneca  
> [3] George Thornbury


End file.
